I take a deep breath and fiddle with the radio dial--not a single station seems to portray how I'm feeling. The depressing country ballads don't match the feelings that arise. Catchy top 40 songs cannot distract me from my thoughts. I settle on the classic rock station and reach for the button to roll down the windows. I figure the fresh air will do me some good.
I left the house in a hurry, not really listening to the pleas of my family. I squint at the road signs--I wasn't concerned about remembering to put in my contacts. I swerve, dodging the oncoming traffic. I guess my depth perception isn't up to par while I'm half blind.
I pace up and down the aisles of Wal-Mart, seeking to find whatever it was that I claimed as my excuse to leave. Contact solution, right. I needed to buy contact solution. I had a reason, a purpose to be here.
"Marissa Goins!" I turn and see the face of the first girl to befriend me when I moved to Florence seven years ago. I've seen her maybe once in the past two years. We make a little small talk, hearing the basics about each other's lives, not really caring enough to ask more. Neither one of us daring to ask what we were really doing there. We smile and part ways, and I realize I should probably get out of there.
I get in the car and vow that tomorrow will be different. Tomorrow, I won't run away. I won't avoid the truth. I won't leave at the first sign of things getting emotional. I promise myself that I'll do better, that I'll be better.
It's never that simple, though, is it?
"We were worried," my sister says as I slip in through the carport door. I hold up my shopping bag and shrug my shoulders. She turns back to her boyfriend and her movie, deciding against playing "Mommy" tonight.
I stare at the flimsy plastic white bag as I reach to turn off my bedroom light. I stumble into bed and think, I guess there are some things that you can't find at Wal-Mart.
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